


Throw Me to the Wolves

by Callikoneko83, EeveeGurl (orphan_account)



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, F/M, Good Brother Merle, Inner Homophobia, M/M, Paul's a flirt, Rick bashing, Romance, Slow Burn, Swearing, blacksmith Daryl, more tags will be added, prison era and on, soldier/surgeon Paul
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:35:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21797743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callikoneko83/pseuds/Callikoneko83, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/EeveeGurl
Summary: Daryl had thought he’d overcome his need for love and affection by focusing instead on learning to be a blacksmith. He’d been successful until he meets one Paul ‘Jesus’ Rovia at an abandoned Lowe’s looking for supplies. As a trauma surgeon in the Middle East, Paul was quite the soldier and surgeon. He proves to be a valuable member of their prison community, a member that Rick finds could be a perfect partner. Paul, however, seems more interested in the sexy blacksmith who seems to prefer working himself to death instead of taking care of his own health. As a doctor, Paul simply can’t allow that. Neither can Merle.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Jesus
Comments: 26
Kudos: 37





	Throw Me to the Wolves

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically Canon up until Merle took Michonne to surrender her to the Governor. Any details about Blacksmithing are the direct result of Calliko’s marathon watching of Forged in Fire, and Medical knowledge is Eevee’s limited knowledge. We don’t promise anything to be correct or accurate!

Daryl moved silently through the aisles of Lowe’s, using his crossbow to take out a walker at the end of the kitchen sinks and counters aisle. Grumbling under his breath about how annoying they were, he turned to study the sinks, reaching out to tap them and see how sturdy they were and if they would be good for what he needed. He stopped, falling silent when he heard a shuffle and a thud a few aisles over.

Long hair tied back and a black bandana around the lower half of his face, Paul sighed softly and relaxed, but only minimally. He had on dark camo cargo pants and a tight black t-shirt. He had on a dark brown holster, one knife in each and a bloody katana in his hand, dead walker on the ground. He sighed softly and pulled a once blue rag out of his pocket and wiped off his blade as he continued down the aisle.

Readying his crossbow, Daryl silently crept down the aisle and turned around the corner, his bow up and aimed. “Hands up,” he growled out when he saw the other man cleaning the blade. “Who are ya?” The hunter had on his usual vest over a dark blue t-shirt, legs of his jeans tied around his boots by random cords.

Paul paused and slowly turned around. Smirk hidden behind the bandana, he slowly put the blade back in its sheath. “Not a threat to you if you lower your bow.”

Daryl’s eyes narrowed, his hand tightening on the bow, taking aim. “Then answer th’question. What are ya doin’ here? How’d ya get in?”

“One man can’t keep an eye on four sides of a building.” Paul pulled the bandana down, revealing his face. “Paul Rovia, but… I go by Jesus.”

Daryl eyed him up and down for a moment before snorting as he lowered his crossbow. “Ain’t callin’ ya that. Stupid name. ‘M Daryl Dixon. Whatcha in here lookin’ for?”

“Medical supplies mostly… but I could use some new tools, as well.” Paul turned, starting to walk away, eyeing the different brands of tools like it was just a regular day and they weren’t in the middle of the apocalypse.

“We cleared most o’ th’medical supplies. Weren’t much, jus’ first aid kits. But… ya know how ta use ‘em?” Daryl watched Paul as he moved away, considering. He’d gotten very good at judging people’s characters from very little interaction.

The man stopped to eye some steel toe boots, picking them up and feeling the soles and toes. “I’m a trauma surgeon, so yes.” He set the pair of boots down and picked up a different pair.

“Any good at it?” Daryl smirked, moving up the aisle toward the man. “We ain’t got no one but a vet. He does well, but he’s not really familiar with human doctorin’.”

“I was stationed in Iraq for two years, then in Iran for three years…” he paused, eyeing the ceiling as he continued to list off his tours, “Afghanistan for two years… this outbreak started in India and came over to Pakistan. Dead soldiers were flown home to their families.” He sighed. “That’s how this thing got spread.”

Daryl stopped short, blinking in surprise, tossing his crossbow over his shoulder on its strap. “That’s… a lot more info than anyone knew. Do ya know how it started?”

“A scientist in India was trying to find a cure for cancer.” He sat down and kicked off the old, worn boots and switched them out with the new ones. “He thought he had the perfect formula when a patient with lung cancer died and was administered with the cure and came back to life. But… the patient started attacking the nurses, biting them and trying to eat their flesh. It wasn’t known to be an infection until it was too late and half the hospital staff had died…” Paul stood back up, tapping the toes of the boots on the floor to test them.

Blinking in shock, Daryl shook his head as he leaned against one of the support posts of the building. “Ain’t nothin’ easy ta try ta cure then. Listen, we got a place, a group. Holed up at a prison, turned it inta… sorta like apartments with th’ cells. We could use a doctor, if’n ya interested.”

Paul looked over at him. “... How many people?” He crossed his arms over his chest, eyeing Daryl intently.

Daryl closed his eyes briefly, clearly conducting a metal tally. “‘Bout 40 or so.”

“40 people living in close quarters and only a vet as a doctor?” Paul’s eyes widened a bit in disbelief. He wanted to say no. He preferred working and surviving alone, but he could break his oath of ‘do no harm’ when he knew that many people living together could cause quite a few illnesses to be passed around easily.

“Originally was just ‘bout a dozen of us. But, we took in a town that lost their… leader. He called himself th’ governor and had captured some of ours, didn’t take kindly ta us takin’ them back. We tried ta offer ta have our communities work together, but he decided we had ta be killed. We took ‘em in when he lost.” Daryl always felt it was best to be upfront about potential issues, and the history of the combination of the communities was still a sore spot for some. “We’ve a few people that’ve had minimal first aid training, or had just started medical school, but no one really trained.”

Paul sighed softly, then nodded. “I could use somewhere better than a small hunting hut with no roof.” He chuckled, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. Sleeping on the hard floor was rough on his back.

Daryl let off a rough chuckle. “A’right. Anythin’ specific ya need from here knowin’ yer comin’ with me?”

“I mean seriously… who builds a fucking hunting hut with no roof? Hunting season is in the fucking fall when it rains and it’s fucking cold as shit.” Paul crossed his arms over his chest, shaking his head. 

Daryl actually laughed, a rough sound as if he didn’t do it often, motioning for Paul to follow him back toward the aisle with the sinks. “A hut like that’s meant fer someone that ain’t huntin’ fer sport, but fer need. That, or they never got a chance ta finish buildin’ it.”

“Still… you just gonna let yourself get rained on while you’re asleep?” Paul followed after him. The hunter was certainly handsome, the doctor had no problems following behind so he could oogle the man’s ass. 

“If yer in enough need, weather ain’t gonna be a problem.” He went back to the sinks, testing and flexing them before finally choosing one with two sinks and pulling it out of the aisle, tapping at it.

Paul watched him. “I suppose that’s true.” He raised an eyebrow as Daryl eyed and tested the many sinks. “Looking to renovate?” He teased light-heartedly, eyes twinkling mischievously.

With a soft snort of amusement, Daryl glanced up at him. “Sorta. Need ta build a forge. So’s I need somethin’ I can get hot without it meltin’ but sturdy ‘nough it won’t collapse. Drains work great fer airflow an’ ash disposal.”

“Stainless steel has a good resistance to heat.” Paul mused.

Daryl nodded his agreement, tapping the sink he’d chosen. “This’ll work well. Thick ‘nough ta hold up too. Grab me that cart, wouldya? Gotta get a few other thin’s ta build this up. Just need ta find somethin’ I can use as an anvil after this.”

Paul walked over to the cart and grabbed it, dragging it over. “What about something like iron weights…? Or you could make one out of melted iron and form it..?”

“Could. Be difficult, but ain’t nothin’ easy no more. Iron should work, steel’d be better. Used railroad tracks once, so somethin’ like that would be good.” Daryl shrugged and hauled the sink into the cart, heading down the aisle to search for more things he needed to build the forge. Metal rods to build a stand, a thick hose, bellows, cement mixing supplies all followed suit.

Paul grabbed a few things himself, mostly extra steel toe boots since others at the prison might need some and a few things for building, such as nails, tools, and chicken wire. “So, the guy outside… friend of yours?” He asked with a hint of flirtation in his voice.

“M’brother. He knows not ta bother me when I get workin’. An’ it’s important I get this forge set up. We could use th’ weapons I can make.” Daryl shook his head, eyeing some of the slabs and weights of metal they were looking at picking up a heavy hammer from the cart to tap at some of them, listening to how the metal rang.

Paul nodded, hands behind his back. “Anyone special at home?” He teased, nudging his elbow into Daryl’s side.

Daryl looked at him with a slight glare, shaking his head. “Nah. Ain’t got time fer that. Gotta keep th’ group fed, an’ with so many people, it’s hard ta hunt ‘nough fresh meat or scavenge ‘nough fer everyone. We got a small farm goin’, but it’s not quite ‘nough neither, since it’s so small.”

The doctor hummed softly in thought. “I have a bit of experience cooking enough to feed an army… maybe I could help with that, too. Keep everyone on diets that’ll keep them fed, but using less food. And the forest has plenty of herbs and plants we can use as natural remedies.”

“That’d be helpful. I can hunt, but anymore, with th’ walkers eatin’ everythin’ they find that moves, I’m not catchin’ much more’n rabbits ‘n’ squirrels. Best fer stewin’ ta make stretch. An’ ain’t many right now that know how ta use natural remedies, so ain’t brought much of that back when we go huntin’.” Eyeing two different weights, Daryl hefted the hammer up swinging it down heavily on each a few times, testing how they held the force of his swings before loading both weights of metal into the cart.

Paul was silent a moment, cheeks flushing just a tight bit as he watched Daryl test the hammer. He cleared his throat, looking away. “Well, with winter about to set in, the walkers will be slower and prey will be more scarce, so they’ll begin to starve. Even the walkers will get slower and lose energy if they don’t eat. Not to mention the more they decompose, the less muscle and cartilage they’ll have to keep moving around. Bones will become more brittle and break easier, making it harder for them to even crawl.”

Daryl nodded. He’d already seen some walkers tear themselves apart with little effort when they were stuck and trying to get to someone. “Makes sense. ‘Spose that’s one bright side ‘bout how long it’s been since this all started.” He looked over the cart he was using to move everything, adding, “Jus’ need some scrap metal an’ some coal, an’ we’re good ta go.”

“We could check the gardening area.” The smaller man suggested, motioning to the double doors just across the aisle. “It was summer when the outbreak happened, I bet we could find plenty of bags of coal with all their cookout products. Hell, maybe we could take back some grills, too.”

The hunter turned to look at Paul before smiling slowly. It wasn’t much, just a hint of his lips curling up, but made him look just that little bit younger and more at ease. “Good idea. An’ while we’re in the gardenin’ area… can look fer seeds and fertilizer an’ such. Might not do so well comin’ inta winter, but can’t hurt to prep fer spring.”

Paul nodded with a small smile. “Sounds like a plan to me.” He kept his hands behind his back so he wasn’t tempted to touch the man. Daryl didn’t seem like the type who liked being touched by a stranger.

Daryl walked next to the cart as they went down the aisle, tossing hunks and rods and small slabs of steel into it. “Should have a decent start fer makin’ weapons an’ tools with this.”

“If we can find some sturdy wood I bet you could make some spears and you could melt down some metal or steel to make points. They’d be better for close combat for those not used to fighting.” Paul stopped by some fencing stakes. “We could come back for these, too, to separate the gardening areas.”

Nodding, Daryl turned to head down a different aisle, spotting a walker crawling down the aisle toward them. Pulling his crossbow from his shoulder, he let off a bolt before moving to retrieve it and heading toward the wood. “Wouldn’t hurt ta have good wood ta make more bolts with neither.”

Paul helped him choose a good sturdy wood and grabbed a bunch of them, stacking them onto the cart as well. “I hope you brought a big enough truck.” He chuckled as he stepped back to look at everything they’d grabbed.

“We’ll manage. Got a pickup. Worst case, we’ll make ya hold some on th’ way back.” Daryl offered a teasing smirk as they turned toward the garden area.

Paul snorted and chuckled, smirking back. “Guess I am good at holding wood.” He teased back, winking at the man.

Daryl froze for a moment at the tease, his face going blank as he started moving forward a little faster. “Let’s get what we need an’ get back. Gonna get dark soon,” he practically growled out, suddenly in a hurry to finish. He moved further into the gardening area without any further comment.

Paul hummed, watching him curiously for a moment before following him. He helped pack up some charcoal and a large grill they could use for cooking. He hadn’t meant to offend the man. He just really didn’t have a filter when it came to a handsome man. The doctor couldn’t help himself.

Finding a fairly large bucket for transport, Daryl practically upended a display of vegetable and fruit seed packets into the bucket to take with them, tossing a few gardening tools and shovels into the bucket on top of them. When there was nothing left he could find that would be immediately useful, he tossed the bucket onto the cart, grabbing the cart’s handle and heading toward the doors. Paul followed Daryl out to the front where Merle was waiting.

“Merle! Ya dead yet?” Daryl called out, hauling a few stacked buckets that wouldn’t fit on the cart out to the truck, loading them into the back.

“Now I dun told ya ain’t nothin’ can kill Merle, but Merle, baby brother!” Merle came out around the truck, pausing when he saw Paul. “Who’s this?”

Paul helped load up. “Daryl’s secret admirer.” He winked at the younger Dixon and grabbed another load to get into the back of the truck.

Daryl scowled. “Name’s Rovia. Calls himself Jesus. ‘S a doctor, trauma surgeon.” He started unloading the cart into the truck, refusing to talk anymore.

Merle snorted and patted Paul’s back with the hand that wasn’t missing. “Careful there, Jesus. Daryl’s cute, but his bite is worse than his bark.”

Paul chuckled. “Oh, I don’t mind biting.” He hopped up onto the truck, ass wiggling in the air a moment as he climbed into the bed of the truck.

The blacksmith blinked and stared for a split second before turning away to grab the sink. Letting out a soft snarl, Daryl practically threw the sink into the back of the truck and slammed the tail gate up. “Let’s head back,” he growled, climbing into the driver’s seat.

Merle barked out a laugh and got into the passenger’s seat. “He’s a keeper, baby brother!”

“Shut yer trap, Merle.” Daryl waited for them to climb in and started the truck, backing out of the parking lot and heading toward the prison.

“Aw, relax, Darylina! Gotta have some fun in this world. Ol’ Office Friendly is so serious all the time.” Merle was well aware of his brother’s preferences and had been for a long time. Paul was just his type, and if the doctor helped Daryl to relax, even a little, it was worth it.

Paul relaxed in the back of the truck, making sure none of the wood or boxes fell out. He couldn’t hear what the brothers were saying, but he was pretty sure it had something to do with him. It probably wasn’t a good idea for him to be flirting with the youngest brother. The brothers seemed to come from a very small town.

“Should be serious. This world’s basically life ‘r death. Survival ain’t nothin’ ta joke ‘bout. Weren’t b’fore neither.” Daryl turned angrily before remembering Paul was in the truck bed, quickly slowing down as the truck started to skid, getting control of the vehicle once more.

The doctor grunted when the truck swerved, sending him nearly flying to the other side of the bed. He growled and yelled over his shoulder. “HEY! TAKE IT EASY!” Paul huffed, relaxing again as the truck slowed. 

Merle huffed as well. “Ain’t sayin survival’s a joke, ‘m sayin we should have a lil fun sometimes. Live instead’a survive. We need t’get ya some nice ass, Darylina.”

Driving a bit more carefully, Daryl glared at his brother. “SORRY!” he called back before responding to Merle. “I ain’t like that.”

Merle smirked. “Never said it had t’be a man’s ass, baby brother. Ladies like it from behind, too.”

“Yer disgustin’,” Daryl spat, turning onto the road leading to the prison. “I gotta get th’ forge set up, an’ go huntin’ ‘gain.”

“Leave the huntin ta ol’ Merle, baby brother. You worry ‘bout that forge.” Merle honestly worried a bit that his brother would work himself to the bone and wind up passing out.

“Ya cain’t hunt properly with only one hand. An’ no one else at th’ prison can hunt worth a damn.” Daryl shot him a sidelong glance. “Ya said it yerself, they’re too noisy.”

Merle huffed. “Can hunt fine with one hand… better yet, I’ll take Jesus out ‘n teach ‘im.”

Daryl rolled his eyes. “Ain’t callin’ him that. Might work, though. He’s quiet when he moves. Was overseas, in th’ military, he said.” He slowed down as he approached the gates of the prison, waiting for those inside to open them up.

Michonne and Carl hurried over, pulling the ropes to open the gates. Merle nodded. “A soldier, huh? He’ll definitely come in handy, then. Means he knows how ta fight, ta survive. An’ bein’ a doc on top of it only helps our ragtag group.”

Daryl nodded. “Take him out then. At least I can try ta get th’ forge set up. We need knives, an’ he had a good idea ‘bout spears fer those that ain’t good at close combat.” He pulled the truck in, parking and hopping out to start taking all of his supplies for the forge to a small area cleaned and flattened out just outside the prison. Later he would find a room inside the prison he could use during the colder months.

Paul jumped down, looking around. It wasn’t quite what he was expecting. It was a lot more open and surrounded by trees and blue skies. Still, he hated prisons. He sighed softly and started helping get everything unloaded. 

Rick came out and started walking over to them, eyeing Paul suspiciously. He walked over to Daryl. “Good haul?”

“I’d say so. Got what I need ta put t’gether a rough forge. Found us a trauma surgeon, that’s Paul Rovia. Brought some seeds an’ gardenin’ stuff fer spring.” Daryl stated matter of fact, barely even glancing at Rick as he hauled the sink and metal rods to his outdoor blacksmithing area.

Rick looked over at Paul, his gaze lingering. “Trauma surgeon, huh?” He grinned a bit, patting Daryl’s shoulder lightly. “Good… we’ll need ‘im over the winter in case anyone gets sick.”

Daryl looked over toward Paul, nodding his head toward Rick. “This is Rick. He’s our leader. I gotta get this forge set up, he can show ya a cell ta claim.”

Paul nodded, giving Daryl a quick look over before following Rick inside. He sighed softly. Daryl was definitely not gay, so the doctor decided to try to rein himself in and try to focus instead on getting an infirmary set up and plan how to give everyone a check up. Rick gave him a quick tour of the prison, showing him the showers, the kitchen and what they considered their cafeteria. Paul didn’t miss the way Rick often touched his back or arm as he led him around. He finally got to an empty cell and thanked Rick politely before quickly heading inside and letting the curtain down so he could be left alone.

As Rick took Paul on the tour, Daryl started taking the rest of the items he needed from the truck, eyeing his brother and snorting at the look he was giving him. “Don’t start. Don’t ya have some huntin’ ta do?”

Merle shrugged. “Jus’ sayin’, baby brother… he looks like he could be a fun lay.” He grinned wickedly, and hurried inside to find Jesus before Daryl could growl at him.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a completed story. Chapters will come out as we can get them edited and ready for reading, but please be patient as we both work a lot! This is also the first of two stories, and we hope you enjoy them! Please read and review! Kudos are very much appreciated! For those who are fans of Deeper Than Blood, we haven’t abandoned it! We are working on writing more! We both work full-time jobs, so it’s hard to find time to work on a detailed story like Blood, but we do have plans to keep going! So, please continue to be patient with us, just know we love you all!


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